I stand frozen in the hallway, a cold, prickly sensation washing over me, suffocating the air from my lungs.
“I assumed she would have grown out of this by now. It’s those stupid bloody romance novels she reads,” Mum adds. I hear the fridge open and close. “They fill her head with nonsense. She just needs to learn that life isn’t like that, that it’s not realistic to expect—”
“Audrey,” Dad says soothingly, “why don’t we try and sit down with her—”
“That will never work. You know how sensitive she is. She’ll just fly off the handle.”
Tears sting my throat and I realize I’m almost shaking with shock. My parents have been saying this sort of thing to me for years—and I’ve always been derided for reading sappy romance novels—but there’s something about the way people speak about others when they think they’re not listening. Mum’s voice is laced with such disgust, such revulsion, that for the briefest second I wonder if she’s talking about someone else.
But she’s not. She’s talking about me.
I suck in a shaky breath and Harriet twists around on the sofa, her eyes locking with mine. And I can tell she knows I’ve heard everything.
I duck back into the bathroom, dropping down onto the edge of the bathtub. I’m reeling from the sting of Mum’s words, from the way she laid out everything I’ve secretly believed to be wrong with me and said, in no uncertain terms, that it is wrong—that I’m wrong.
“Hey.” Harriet pops the door open, slipping inside. “You okay?”
I press my lips into a thin line and nod, unable to meet her gaze. I know if I do, I’ll start crying.
Oh look at that, my parents are right: too damn sensitive.
Harriet takes a tentative step towards me. “Don’t listen to them. You know Mum’s always a bit dramatic.”
I stare down at the tiles, replaying Mum’s words in my head. Because while Harriet’s right, I also know Mum wasn’t that far off. I had imagined I would be an author, that I was working towards that, eventually. And, as much as it hurts to admit this now, I had also imagined myself marrying Travis at some point in the future. Not just Travis; several previous boyfriends had dressed up in a tux and said heartfelt vows somewhere in the grand wedding venues of my daydreams.
And what happened? Nothing. It was all in my head.
A tear escapes down my cheek and I quickly brush it away. I have nothing to show for my life, but that’s not even the worst of it. The worst part is that I’d convinced myself, somehow, I did.
Harriet lowers herself onto the tub beside me. “Did you really buy a plane ticket to New York?”
I nod numbly.
“Do you want to go?”
I shrug. Because Mum’s right, isn’t she? That was just another fantasy.
“Maybe you should.”
Wait. What? Of all the people who might encourage this, I’d never expect it from her. She’s always been the more pragmatic one, the more sensible of the two of us. She’s never been the type to get swept up in flights of fancy like me.
“You heard Mum,” I mumble. “It’s crazy.”
Harriet nods slowly. “Yeah, it is. And I’d never do it. But…” She adjusts her glasses, thinking. “If you’re not happy here, then maybe it’s time to do something different. You know they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.” She gives me a nudge. “So maybe the crazy thing would be to stay here.”
I snort a laugh and wipe my nose, studying her. She’s three years younger than me and we’ve never been especially close, but now I’m glad to have her here, sitting in my bathroom while I battle a hangover and the intense urge to do something life-altering.
She gives my arm a squeeze. “That sucks about Travis. I’m sorry. But that’s beyond your control. If you want to go to New York, or write, or make some other big life change…” She shrugs. “That’s up to you.”
I look down at the bathmat, absorbing her words. She’s right; the only thing stopping me is myself.
My pulse quickens at this realization. Because I could actually do this. I could. Hell, I already have the ticket and the apartment. It’s halfway done already.
“Harri…” I glance at her again. “Do you really think I should do this?”
“Well, do you want your life to change or stay the same?”
Emily’s words flash into my mind—this is exactly what you need… it’s going to change your life—and a thrill runs through me. Because I think it’s about damn time to change my life.
“You’re right.” I stand, conviction gripping me as I stride into the living room with Harriet trailing after me.
Mum looks up from her cup of tea in surprise.
“You know what?” I raise my hands to my hips and look squarely at my parents. “I’m going. I’m going to New York to become a writer.” I take in their aghast expressions and feel another surge of conviction. They think my dreams are crazy, that I should stay here and live a small life, but they’re wrong. It’s one thing for Travis to hurt me, but for my own parents to not even believe in me…
But they’ve never believed in me, have they? They don’t understand me at all. They’ve never even tried. And suddenly, I realize that leaving here isn’t so much about not wanting to be here—it’s about feeling like I don’t even belong here.
I lift my chin. “I’m moving to New York,” I say again, glaring defiantly at my parents. “And if you don’t like it, you can go duck yourselves.”
3
This can’t be right.
I’m standing on the corner of West 10th and Hudson
